Saturday, July 30, 2011

Shaking hands and snickering

As a manager, I frequently am required to do these awful things called interviews.

Since I want everyone to love me and think I'm cute, I am the worst interviewer. I usually end up complimenting them and then take out the hard questions, and spend the rest of the time talking about who we know in common. My interviews are always about 45 seconds. This is a blog dedicated to the unemployed, who applied for a job I posted, only to come to the interview and get made fun of later by me in my blog.

"Dale"


Dale showed up at the interview about 15 minutes late and wearing a rugby shirt. He looked like he may have done crystal meth a couple of days ago. The awful thing about an interview like this is that I know within 20 seconds that he won't be hired but I have to fake an interview because I'm non-confrontational.

Mary: I see you worked at Arvest Bank for 2 months, did you enjoy that?

Dale: MMMM not really.

Mary: Oh, what did you dislike about it?

Dale: The customers. ug. They were awful.

Mary: So is that why you decided to leave?

Dale: No, I would have stayed because I need the money. They let me go for excessive absences.

Mary: Oh! Well that's....okay....How um, much did you miss, just out of curiosity?

Dale: I think like, 8 times in a month. But my drawer always balanced.

Mary: Thanks Dale. We'll let you know by the most non-awkward method available. Thank God for email!


"Zenaida"

I gave her Casey Anthony's fictional nanny's name because she strikes me as the kind of person who would steal a child and then yell at you for being upset about it. She shows up to the interview wearing a tight orange t-shirt dress with massive cleavage and white stripes in her Ecuadorian hair. She also has her nose pierced and hoop earrings the size of dinner plates.

Zenaida: You're Mary? I'm older than you. Thas weird.

Mary: Would you like to come into my office? The air conditioner vent is blowing up your tiny dress and I don't want to see your magicland.

Zenaida: What kind of like, stuff do you have to have to work here? Could I be paid under the table without documentation?

Mary: Well are you a US citizen?

Zenaida: UM. I am bilingual. I'm from Ecuador. I think I have a social security number. You can't go to school without a social security number, right?

Mary: Uhhhh, I'm not really sure. Lets get through the interview and we can worry about your illegal alienness upon an offer of employment, okay?

She answered all the questions horribly and with extreme attitude. I wanted to take her to a boot camp, like they have for bad kids on Maury Povich. This question was the worst, though.

Mary: And what would you say your weakness is?

Zenaida: I know you did not just ask me that question. What am I pose to say to something like that? I trying to talk good things about myself. You would need to be asking someone else that knows me something like that! Do not ask the interview person a question about something bad! Ummmm. That does not make sense. What the HELL.

Mary: Haha. I agree Zenny. I was silly. We'll email you and please don't respond.

Zenaida: I don't have a computer so I'll just have mi hermano give me a ride up here in a few days to see if I got it.

Mary: I'm sorry, I don't think you're what we looking for so please don't come back. and Please don't cut me.

"Karla"

My boss at the time actually interviewed Karla so I do not know the specifics of the conversation they had. I know it was awful and very short.

All you really need to know is that Karla brought her boyfriend and 2 children to wait for her in the lobby while she had her interview. And. She had a belly button ring. That we could see because she was wearing a shirt that showed it off as though it was an impressive portfolio of banking awesomeness. While she was in the interview, her boyfriend asked me if I had any coloring books or toys for the kids because they were bored. I gave them a sucker and some judgement.

"Jamie"

Jamie showed up for an interview that someone in HR had scheduled. I had not seen her resume until she showed up and I had HR email it to me so I could over it with her.

Jamie had her hair in a soaking wet ponytail that left a huge water circle in the middle of her back. She wore an Aeropostale polo that was 4 sizes too small and a pair of black jeans that were 3 sizes too big. The black jeans were skinny jeans, before skinny jeans were cool (however, skinny jeans are only cool for skinny girls even in 2011). She had on HUGE Airwalks without laces.

Mary: Hi Jamie. I'm Mary. Oh. Would you like to shake...my...hand?

Jamie: Oh yeah okay.

Mary: What interested you in this position? I noticed you don't have any experience in banking.

Jamie: Yeah, I drive a truck. Jesus. I just want to get out of the heat, ya know.

Mary: Oh, okay... well th-

Jamie: I am tired of sweating my ass off and not making anything you know? There's a lot of money out there and it involves air conditioning.

Mary: Have you ever had any kind of customer service experience?

Jamie: How much does this job pay, by the way?

Mary: Depending on experience, up to $10 an hour.

Jamie: Wow, that's not much. That won't even pay my bills. You know. (wrings out her ponytail and places it on her shoulder)

Mary: So would you be interested in continuing the interview?

Jamie: Well....maybe I'd be interested but I thought people in like, office jobs, made money. Ya know.

Mary: Okay Jamie, well we'll let you know. And by let you know, I mean we'll give you a blow dryer and probably a fluffy towel.


Needless to say, none of these people were offered a position. One day, I hope I get famous enough that I don't have to do interviews anymore and you all can pay me to sit around in paint-covered gouchos from 2001, making written fun of everyone I  have come in to contact with.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Kendalgellan

Happy Birthday on Thursday to my best friend in the metropolis..... Kendal!




We've been best friends for 16 years, even though we went through stages of differences that were so vast that we should have hated each other.

In 7th grade, Jill told Kendal I had a crush on her boyfriend Tyler, to which Kendal replied, "Who? The girl with the bowl cut and stretch pants?" Then they grabbed Tyler and laughed at me all the way down the hall. Middle school was so cute.


7th grade buttcrack part Kendal Top left. Awkward posed 7th grade mary Middle front.

Later, Kendal realized we had Home Ec together and figured out her boyfriend should probably leave her for me because I knew how to iron on bubble letters and make homemade noodles. We were both in love with a boy in our class named Dorsey. We would always sit too far away from our sewing machines so when we walked by he would have to squeeze up against up. I had a serious unfortunate fantasy about making cookies with this 12 year old and both of us ending up rolling around in flour and sugar while laughing and giving each other massages. (I clearly got better at fantasies as I got more experienced....)

When Kendal and I were in High School, we would skip school. A lot. We would pick a road and drive until it ended. We would shout nervously at each other once we were about 4 miles out of town.."DO YOU THINK IT WILL STILL GO ANOTHER MILE...?!? OH MY GOSH THIS IS CRAZY!" Then we'd shove each other and sing "Let er Rip" by the Dixie Chicks as though our life depended on it.

My mother, who reads this blog, paid for my gas when I was in high school and asked me one day how I had gone through a half a tank of gas in one afternoon. I told her I left the gas cap off on accident so it had leaked out. She told me that's not..really...how...that...works..? So then I started crying and said if she wanted me to get such good gas mileage then they should have bought me a car that cost more than $550. She knew I was lying about something but wanted my hormonal melodramatic weeping all up out of her business so she let it go.



We drove to a neighboring rural town called Piedmont one day when we were on one of our skipping school excursions. We decided we would put on our backpacks, walk through their halls, wave at a few teachers, stop at a locker, and then leave. It was going to be amazing. Everyone would be looking at us like, "who the hell are those chicks?" Our plan was shattered when we realized we were at the Middle School and we wouldn't be able to blend in with our awesome racks and brown lipstick. So we instead made the trip fun by laughing and high-fiving each other because the Middle School said "PMS" on it. (for Piedmont Middle School). Menstruation ennuendos are funny!

We settled on Santa Fe High School. It was another high school in the same town as ours, and maybe we could even have someone we know witness our "prank"!

Our hearts were pounding so hard, you would think we were planning on stealing a Chinese baby, instead of walking around in a school we didn't go to with our backpacks on.

We start by their auditorium and make our way around by a snack machine, where we suddenly lose any nerve and start being incredibly interested in the starbursts and rold golds. Kendal is kicking me. We discover we probably should have timed our entry on a passing period, this was about to get bad.

Teacher: Ladies why aren't you in class?

Mary: Schlebit.

Kendal: uhh we're on our way

Teacher: Do you have a pass?

Kendal: No, um we-

Teacher: Kendal?

Mary: How do you know-

Teacher: Mary?

Mary and Kendal:.......................................................................

It was one of our best friend's moms. She was a teacher at the school.

Mary: Yeah, I had a rehearshal and had to pick up some snacks.

Mrs. Buntyn: So....your rehearshal was here or you're here to pick up snacks....? Why is Kendal with you and why do you have backpacks on?

Mary: haha! Yep! Tell Kinsey we said hi!

Kendal and I rush off, she's kicking me and muttering cuss words under her breath, straightening out her Grateful Dead t-shirt and trying to make our running not so obvious.

We make it around the corner where we stop and both bust out laughing. I'm trying not to pee or cry and we're panicking wondering if she'll call our school, the police, or our moms.

Kendal: Oh my gosh. What the f-

Man: Mary?

We turn around slowly....and there is my older Sister's husband....working on the school's security system.

Mary: Oh...hey!...Brian....hey!

Kendal: Hi Brian. Don't tell on us.

Mary: We just came by here to study.

Brian: ...........

Mary: We have study sessions..here...and then we sing.

Kendal: Mary. really.

Mary: DON'T TELL MY MOM.

Brian: I wouldn't even know what to tell your Mom. You're skipping school to go to school? What the hell? You're the worst school skipping rebel I've ever seen. Go get in a fight or steal something and then I'll tell your mom. Geez. Go back to school. Your school.

We rush back to school only to realize that we can't have anymore unexcused absences. I write a note from my sister and forge her signature so I won't get busted and Kendal does the same. After school that day I immediately got a page (yes, page. Don't hate on 1998) that said my home phone number and 911.

Apparently I had written the note in first person. "I missed school today because I had to babysit for my Sister because she was sick and couldn't take care of her baby" then signed my sisters name. Mama Bear was not happy with me. Mama Bear still makes fun of me to this day about it.

Anyways, I got off on talking about myself instead of the Birthday girl. Like always.

Kendal and I got stuck on a gravel road in my 1985 Camry....somewhere in Choctaw, and almost got hit by passing by terrorist farmers. It was more terrifying than the time Kendal told a man with thigh-length hair on a Harley that I wanted some of that and he said something about "take you to a field"......

..... It was the last time we were delinquent school-skipping explorers.

 Awesome, Kendal.

Happppppppy Birthday!  mrah. Thanks for always letting me eat your Andes mint at Olive Garden since you think it tastes like brushing your teeth while eating a cookie.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Sometimes you ain't getting satisfied-

"Sometimes, you're going to get a boner and you're not going to be able to do anything about it."



I have uttered these words about 7 times in the last few days, and the response I get is not unlike my 2 year old when I tell her she can't stick her hands in the toilet. Scheer and utter frustration, confusion, and wellthenimgoingtodosomethingelseequallyasgrossness.



Meet Rocky- We adopted Rocky from Oklahoma Yorkie Rescue. Somebody dropped him off at the shelter and he's been in foster care for almost a year. We decided to open our virgin home to him 5 days ago.









Did you just use the word virgin to describe your home Mary Berry?



Yes, I did.



Rocky is a netuered male giant yorkie, weighing in at almost 21 lbs. When the foster mother dropped him off at our house on Sunday morning, we were enamored. He stayed in the yard. He was fully housetrained. He laid down when we asked him to and ran happily to his new crate without whining. When my Mom came over to say hi and meet her new horny granddog, he barked. Yay for barking at strangers! Too bad our 50 pound pit bull won't do the same when someone BREAKS INTO OUR HOUSE WHILE WE ARE SLEEPING.

Anyways.



The first evening we had him, Adrian and I were laying on my bed with Rocky and watching How to Train your Dragon (which we watch every night) when I heard Adrian giggle with naive happiness. I look down in time to see this.











Mary: ROCKY! NO!

Adrian: Mom, it's okay! It doesn't hurt. He's giving me a cute hug!



I gather my thoughts on how to explain this to a 6 year old.



Awkward Mary: You know how you get grossed out when I kiss Daddy when I'm feeling lovey towards him? Well...this is kind of like that.....except Rocky is trying to kiss you with his penis....like you're a girl dog...kind of...










At this point I feel a wet pink rocket against my leg.



Mary: ROCKY! NO!



Adrian: So he can't kiss you with his penis either?  Can you explain it better please, Mom. I don't understand.



Mary: ROCKY NO! NO! NO NO NO! GET OFF OF ME! AHHHHHH! ROCKY NO!



Adrian: Mom, I think it's the blanket that he's kissing with his penis.



Mary: Adrian stop saying "kissing with his penis" I'll explain it better in a minute. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? WHY IS HE HUMPING EVERY ITEM AND HUMAN ON THE BED?



(I push Rocky off the bed)

(Rocky moans and groans and sticks his legs flat against the carpet and starts running in a circle, barking at his disgusting doggy hard on, and getting some sort of sick satisfaction from the friction of the carpet.)



Mary: ROCKY! STOP IT!



(Rocky rolls over in frustration and then rolls over again. He is half barking half moaning. He continuously is rolling over in what appears to be a blue balls temper tantrum)



Mary: ROCKY! Sometimes you are going to get boners and there is nothing you are going to be able to do about it!



Adrian: Stop yelling at him Mama! (crying) It's okay if he hums me. (pouting) What is a boner?




I have come to the conclusion that the following things give my new dog an erection:

Female shoes
Blankets of any sort
A hello or a nice pat
Pillows
Stuffed Animals
My children
Stretching my legs out
Charlie the gunea pig
How to Train your Dragon

...and pretty much any other noun or verb you can think of

We have started spraying him in the face with a water bottle when he starts going to town like he's hanging out with Jenna Jamison. It has already worked. He is clearly very confused why Ellis is not pleased with his making sweet love to her head. This confusion is caused by him getting sprayed in the face. He shakes off, then looks at me like "really? wtf."



Rocky needs to think about his life choice and he might just need to find Jesus.


P.s. I STILL haven't been able to explain the action to Adrian. Advice is appreciated.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Awesome.

I am starting a new denomination called Awesomeism.

If you are about to stab an old lady in the spine so you can steal her milkshake and there's a part of you that says:

"Stop, young child O the night. Though shalt not stab Granny. That ain't nice"

That voice you hear?

Listen to it.

Then, you're a practicing Awesomeist.

Every week all the Awesomeists will gather at Jimmy's Egg, soccer practice, Home Depot, or on the couch in front of Madden. If they don't show up because they had too much to drink the night before or are sleeping off the ambien they took too late, ain't no thang! If they wake up and start rushing around because they're late and can't find their shawl, then that is not Awesome. Not Awesome at all.

Whenever you're Awesome and you go to bed at night, this is the time for you to reflect. Figure out if you've been a good Awesome, or if you've been a royal suckfest dumbass face. Did you have sex with your neighbor's wife? That's not Awesome. Did you give a bum a dollar, a high-five, or a smile? You are first in line to ride my Awesome train.

What about materials? You are probably asking what you can purchase from me to study so you can be a devout follower. Instead of a WWJD bracelet...you should buy a JDGAF bracelet, t-shirt, flask, or porn case. I will provide you with a link as soon as you give me enough money to make another website. Get on it suckas!

I will leave you with a final bible verse from another religion's bible.



2 Kings 2:23-24 NKJV



Then he went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up the road, some youths came from the city and mocked him, and said to him, “Go up, you baldhead! Go up, you baldhead!” So he turned around and looked at them, and pronounced a curse on them in the name of the LORD. And two female bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the youths.
 
 
 
Just to clarify- if my kid calls you baldy and you send 2 female bears to maul his face, that is NOT Awesome and you will no longer be welcome at Home Depot.

Guest post from my favorite Mother!

The following is a guest post from my amazing Mother, whom after successful training, will no longer use any acronym for laughing out loud. Enjoy!




The 1968 Tragedy






SNOW QUEEN CONTESTANT!! IMPOSSIBLE!!



It couldn’t be me - but there was my name on the blackboard. When I left the classroom a few minutes earlier, there had been two names on the blackboard. My teacher explained that after the two nominees left the room, the rest of the class would vote on who they wanted as their Snow Queen Representative.



Each of the nine 8th grade classes would pick one girl from their class to compete for the title of Snow Queen during the Winter Carnival our school had every December.



I stood out in the hallway with Erica Owens - tall, very pretty (I thought) who always dressed like I wished I could dress, except if I did, I wouldn’t look like she did. I looked at Erica and thought, “Here’s our next Snow Queen”. I was certain of the outcome - so it was quite a shock to see my name on the blackboard. Erica appeared shocked as well.



Sometimes life was a little hard on me and my family - we would move every 3 years or so because my Dad was in the Canadian Air Force. We had just moved to Ottawa and I had just started the 8th grade and didn’t know very many kids. Someone told me, under their breath, “You got the votes from people that Erica has snubbed”.



Regardless of the reason, I had won the honor of representing my 8th grade class for the competition. HONOR!! HA!! I was terrified. I could feel butterflies in my stomach and sweat gathering on my palms. The information sheet my teacher gave me confirmed my worst fear:



The Snow Queen Competition consists of two parts:

1. Interview - to be conducted by judges who will grade

participants on poise and creativity of answers. Date Nov.

28th, 2 p.m., Room 131B

2. Talent - judged on originality, ability and creativity.

Approx. length 5-8 minutes. Dec 4th, 12:30 p.m. in

the Cafeteria.







TALENT--!! I had no talent and now I had only six days to find a talent. They also planned the Talent competition during the lunch period so all the other students could come and watch and cheer. Wasn’t that just Fandamntastic!!!

Not only did I not have a talent - I was going to advertise that fact in front of the whole school. This was the worst day of my life!





At home, my Mom was no help. Here’s how the conversation went:



Mom: Oh, Wendy I am so proud of you! Aren’t you so excited! (Mothers never seem to have a grasp of the real situation).



Wendy: MOM - I have NO TALENT! Why didn’t you get me a talent - put me in tap or ballet or piano or SOMETHING!!



Mom: With four kids, if we gave one child lessons, we’d have to give everyone lessons and we couldn’t afford it. Don’t worry you will think of something. She paused, “What about gymnastics!!”



Now my idea of a gymnast was someone who could do back handsprings into flying camels or something like that? My gymnastic ability consisted of somersaults - some forward, some backward and a cartwheel or two. I excelled at tether ball and badminton but neither of those would work in this situation. Gymnastics was about it - I had no other choice. I started working on my routine.



My interview the following day was awful. My question and answer went something like this;



Judges: You have just discovered that you do not have enough money to pay for all your groceries that have already been bagged and ready to go. What do you do?



Wendy: (with three pairs of judge’s eyes riveted on my face to gauge my reaction and await my creative and innovative reply. I didn’t have one.



Wendy: -----huh----hmmm- (now turning bright red because I blushed easily) ---

Huh, I guess I would tell the grocer I needed to put some things back.



I could tell by the judges’ blank stares that I didn’t have a chance in the interview portion of the competition, and it was confirmed when the contestant following me gave a witty answer that had all three judges laughing.



Well, on to the talent competition….



I slept poorly the next five nights, practicing my gymnastics routine in my head over and over again. I had decided to call it a tumbling routine which was a more honest description of my up coming performance. I auditioned the routine for my family, who gave it rave reviews and vowed no one could beat me!!! WHAT SUPPORT!! WHAT FOOLS!!!



The morning of the talent competition I awoke with an upset stomach and wished desperately to close my eyes and wake up the next morning with this ordeal behind me.









At lunch all nine contestants were seated in a semi-circle facing the stage in the cafeteria. I was third from one end and seventh from the other end. I prayed that the judges would start from the other end and luckily for me they did. I had a reprieve - a short one - but a reprieve none the less!



I watched Sally Hayes play Beethoven like a concert pianist. I sunk down a bit in my chair. Laura King sang “On the Good Ship Lollipop” looking remarkably like Shirley Temple. Debbie Jones was next. She had bleached blonde hair (what kind of mother lets an eighth grade child dye her hair - especially in 1968) and a figure I hoped to have by the time I was married. She wore a brightly colored short skirted outfit, white boots and a hat with a tassel and twirled a baton like a professional. I had never considered that I would need a costume - so I would be further humiliated by the fact that I was wearing my baggy blue gym shorts and a white t-shirt.



I slowly watched the time tick by knowing that I was about to make a fool of myself and nothing short of a miracle could save me.



The miracle happened in the form of the end-of-lunch bell which sounded just before my turn. The judges decided to have the last three contestants do their acts right after school. The student audience was invited to return also to watch us. I breathed a sigh of relief - NO student would say after school voluntarily.



I did my routine for the three judges and the other two contestants. It was a passable performance and I was SO glad to have it over.



A fitting end to this story would be to say that I rose above my humble performances and won the title of Snow Queen 1968. I didn’t, but I learned a valuable lesson that day - I would make darn sure that all of my children would have a talent, even if it was only juggling!



By the way, Debbie Jones won - there is a lot to be said for bleached blonde hair.




I think my favorite part of this is the fact that my Grandma and Grandpa convinced my mom that she couldn't be beat, because her somersaults were so badass. It makes me remember all the times my parents would tell me I was the best and the prettiest singer in the land, and I didn't NEED a Limited Too dress or matching socks to prove it.

I'm very proud of you, Mom. Not just for mastering the tumbling talent of a toddler, but for accepting the challenge and reaffirming my already concrete belief that the bleached and blonder is always better

Thursday, July 14, 2011

I'd give you everything I've got

Last night I had a anyeurism in my neck. I don't know if that's how you spell anyurism or really, what an anurism is, but it is just meant to invoke a stupid amount of sympathy.

So my neck was septic and Husband with one T told me I could take one of his muscle relaxers. I was reluctant, because I had not eaten yesterday and was worried it would be too strong for little Mare. It makes me feel really petite and cute to call myself little and give myself nicknames.

He assured me it would be fine and informed me he took more than one a day on an empty stomach. I downed it with an entire bottle of water and ran myself a bath with eucalyptus bath salt and slid my slender and tan lithe physique into the bathing version of hydrocodone and picked up a book to try to relax.

My chin fell into the water and I realized I was drooling and talking to myself with a New Zealand accent.

One T had poisoned me with his sympathetic pain/love and I was now going to die.

I stumbled back into the bedroom and managed to make it to my side of the bed. I didn't dry myself off or take off my earrings.

Mat came back in the bedroom after turning off the lights and I was fast asleep like a little mousketeer. He turned the fan on, turned on the lights and went to either play video games or scream cuss words at news anchors.

From my own memories, Mat's testimony, and the evidence, this is how my evening went last night.

I fell asleep sometime between 8 and 8:07, because the kids were in bed at 8 and I took one bite of a gordita at 8:01.

I woke up sometime between 8:07 and 11 and took off my jewelry and ate a Reeses peanut butter cup. I chose not to throw away the trash from it, and snuggled with it instead.

Mat came back to the room at 11 and brushed his teeth. This required turning on the light and apparently that is one of the seven deadly sins in wife passedoutness land.

Mary: MAT!

Mat: What, baby?

Mary: MAT!!!! MAT!!! Scmeniddity farkle goon gra.

Mat: I'm right here. What?

Mary: What are you doing?

Mat: Brushing my teeth and coming to bed.

Mary: (whimper)

Mat: Go back to sleep.

Mary: Why are you trying to say things that confuse me?

Mat: Baby, I'm not. Go back to fucking sleep.

Mary: I don't. (whimper) Know. What's. Real.

Mat: ..........................................

Mary: Gong. Framouth.

Mat: ...................................................

Mary: MAT!

Mat: I'm here. But seriously. Stop saying things and go back to sleep.

Mary: Real?

Mat: Yes, it's all real. Just go to sleep.

Mary: You're so mean, man.

Mat: Um, don't call me man. And I know I'm horrible. Stop moving your mouth and pushing sound from your vocal chords.

I woke up at 1:42 a.m. and ordered Jaycee Dugards book on my Kindle. I read 2 pages and fell back asleep with my Kindle on my chest. I also chugged at least one bottle of water. There may have been a bathroom break but it's unclear.

I woke up at 3:25 and chugged a bottle of water. I made 2 notes on an orange post-it pad that said:




I then ate one bite of a starcrunch and left the rest of it on the couch.

I wikipedia'd "narcissism" because I admitted to myself that I had used the word twice the previous day without actually knowing what it meant. I read enough about narcissism that I made my phone die. I evidently considered a new career because I also had "how can I help narcissistic people" in my browser history.

I read Jaycee Dugard's entire book and put lotion on my feet. I scratched my ankle on something.

I went back to bed but could not sleep so I drank two more bottles of water and flossed my teeth. I turned off the alarm and sat on the back porch for 40 seconds, then realized it was scary as ass to be outside by yourself at 4:30, in nothing but a snowflake blanket.

I took a shower, straightened my hair, and googled pessimist on my phone that was plugged in in the bathroom. I realized I thought pessimist and narcissist were the same thing and I should figure out if I was right so I could use both of them. I read about pessimism for almost 40 minutes in my sweaty bathroom and considered taking another shower.

I accidentally took 3 vitamins.

I woke up my children and forgot to put on deodorant.

I've been up since 3 AM and the too much vitamin in my system has made my lips swell like I have Human Papillomo Virus.

Everybody have a cute weekend! Kisses!





***The note I vaguely remember had to do with me not being able to figure out what was real and what wasn't because I hadn't finished my Taco Bell burrito. I thought it would make a good blog but upon further investigation realized it made me sound narcissistic and pessimistic.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Inappropriate Deathness

While speeding down the highway, 12-18 miles over the speed limit with one of my sideview mirrors crushed with a garage's vengeance at my speed pulling out of him to get a snow cone, texting something hilarious and insightful, and handing little girl a krispy kreme so she'd stop kicking my seat, I came to realize I am probably going to die soon.

I could not bear it if when this happened I had a funeral with a few people who were sad and talked about how "full of life" I was. I would want everyone to take lithium or opiates and watch The Flava of Love while high-fiving each other and dividing my life insurance money.

I decided to go ahead and write my...what's the word I am looking for? It's not sermon or obituary....what the mother effer is it called?

I googled. Eulogy. I have broke it into the people I want to read it, and what exactly I would like them to say. Everyone who knows me know that I am a planner. Except when it comes to retirement, school work, social activities, chores, and my occupation.

Please don't stray from what I have set forth or else I will use my angel wings to give you canker sores and pink eye.

Kendal:

Mary was my best friend.

 She was better at everything than me. Including Scrabble and Words With Friends. The only time I threw the scrabble board at her was to try to distract from my lame attempt to play the word button, knowing she couldn't turn it into a triple word with the "s" on the end. The s's were all already used. She was so pretty that she used the blank space to triple the word.

When we decided to try to get good at soccer so we could contribute something to our high school besides absences, I can honestly say Mary had a better pass kick than me, but that's only because she was so pretty.

 She always liked getting married and then having sex. Everyone wanted to marry her and have sex with her. I, on the other hand, decided I will play this fun game where I only date a guy for a few days until he does something completely unforgivable like not using enough cuss words. That's why I am here today with Franchuk. He just got out of prison for cussing and stealing expensive jeans so he's perfect for me.

 Sorry, I know this is supposed to be about Mary but I love talking about myself so I'll get back to her in a second.

Remember that one time, a few minutes ago, when I told you about my boyfriend Franchuk? That was funny, huh. I like cheese on my food because I am a vegetarian.

Okay, Mary. Gosh she was pretty. She was a good friend to me, too. Like the one time she accidentally walked in on me naked and I screamed at her like an evil Disney villain with red shit shooting out of my eyeballs, she just told me how hot I was and I should dress a little bit more provocative.

I never gave up on Mary. Even when she wanted to stay in all weekend and watch My Super Sweet 16, I would call her until she answered. Sometimes it would take 14 or 15 times. Eventually, I would call her from a blocked number and when she answered I would guilt her into eating lunch with me, even if she was trying to stop being fat.

 I wear stupid clothes sometimes that I think are "funny" and "ironic" but I am wrong. They are just dumb. Like my hot purple tennis shoes that made Mary want to rip out the Velcro and scratch up my face. Or my vocal music teacher sweater with the musical notes, Mary tried to accidentally wash it in bleach. Then I bought a belt that had something stupid on it like a progressive female punching something or something equally as Republican and stupid. When I wear my Canadian tuxedo of head-to-toe denim, Mary wishes she had defriended me in 1995.

 Mary is really classy and timeless and so much funnier than me.

When we lived together, Mary always took the trash out much more than me and I appreciate her cleaning SO much. Thank you so much for always being a better roommate than me.

I'll miss you. I'll miss complaining about you blowing your nose, and trying to pawn you off to any straight or homosexual man when you didn't have one.


Matthew:

My sister was so much funnier and more creative than me.

She often took what I said, then made it funnier and better. She was amazing like that.

I feel really bad about the one time in 1994 that we were fighting over the sonic game while our Mom brought in groceries. You DID call it first in the car on the way home, so my actions were unnecessary and my retaliation of kicking you was way out line.

 I would also like to take this public opportunity to state that Mary did indeed see a puma on her camping trip, and I am an utter and complete asshole for disputing this for the past 12 years.

Why did I move to Ecuador? That's dumb!

Mary was very pretty and the reason I haven't gotten married is because I compare all women to my sister, and they pale in comparison.

Mom:

Mary, you were always my favorite child.

 I wish I had given you more money while you were growing up.

I'm sorry for crying when I got your report cards. They were different! That's all!

 I know you were lying when you got caught skipping school. You said you spilled cherry dr pepper on yourself, but you don't even drink soda. That's okay though. You were so beautiful.

That's the reason you never had boyfriends! They all saw how beautiful and approachable you were, and it scared them off. Your perfection is so intimidating.

 I am sorry that I say aboot instead of about and soory instead of sorry.

 I know how much you want to strangle me when I use silly acronyms so hopefully I will learn that I am funny and don't have to reiterate it. LOL! LMBO! ESBLAM! (everybody should be laughing at me LOL).

That one rule I made about you only getting a snow cone every three days...? I am sorry. That was wrong of me. You deserved a snow cone everyday.

I should've put you in cheerleading so you'd have nicer legs.

 I love you and am going to miss you so much! Who am I going to text at 4:45 a.m. when there is a few snowflakes to warn of the mass danger of driving? Who is going to call me and talk about themselves endlessly? What am I going to do with all the free time I have since I am not listening to you gossip about your friends or talk about your feelings?

 I love you. Don't ever laugh when I tell you how talented I am, okay?

Dad:

Mary, You are also my favorite child. It's amazing we were even able to love the other two with a golden child such as you living amongst them.

I am sorry I have always disputed the fact that you do the Seinfeld "sorry" better than me. I am and always have been so wrong that it burns my mustache right off to even think I had a chance against you!

I'm just happy we kept you off the pole.

Remember when we argued for 2 years over how Hayley Mills spelled her name? I thought I was right and even gave you a pat and said "It's okay. I know how she spells her name because we have the same Birthday". I can't believe how silly I was in thinking I knew more about Pollyanna than you!

Strength is a much better word that grace, Marigold. You were right on that one.

Mary was always able to take any situation her brother presented, and make it funnier and really, overall, just better.

Do you guys want to hear some statistics? Because I have them. I know I'm supposed to be talking about Mary but did you know that 10% of the population is mentally ill and 17% of the population is homeless!?

Here are some final words of wisdom for you, Mary, in the afterlife:

Whoever raises their voice first in an argument has automatically lost.
If one of the other angels make you mad, just ask them to step back say about, 30 or 40 feet, and take a running leap up your ass.
There's a big difference between compassion and weakness.
If one of the other angels make you mad, tell them you've stepped over angels bigger than them just to GET to the fight.



Mat:

You were by far the most gorgeous and vibrant woman I have ever seen. Including the Playboy bunny that bought a car from me. Ew! She was gross!

 I'm sorry for always unloading the dirty dishes you have loaded and then reloading them in a much more obsessive-compulsive manner. You were right, that is obnoxious!

I am going to miss talking to you for hours on end about the twig patterns of our red bud tree.

You always could run faster than me!

You were so pretty! SOOOO much prettier than Blake Griffin's girlfriend when we saw them together at the Cheesecake factory. I know I texted every guy in my phone that I had just seen a 100 lb hammer, but I didn't mean it!

 Thank you so much for always offering to give me a back rub, even if it was just so I would offer to give you one. Which I wouldn't!

You were so cute! So much cuter than Hayden Panitierre and SO much less wrinkly.

I'm sorry I hit you with the remote in the middle of your forehead. You were completely in your right to be trying to get the remote and I was a screwed up crackhead that was completely in the wrong!

I am going to still come to your grave and tell you how my 401k is doing, because I know that death is not enough to kill the incredible interest you have in my spreadsheet.

 I love you more than azaleas in full bloom and you were really pretty.



After everyone has spoken their written eulogies, I would like Paul Mccartney to sing Something in the way she Moves while Gael Garcia Bernal strokes my hair as I descend into the earth.

Happy Funeral Planning!





*******Here's an extra note...after Kendal read the Eulogy I wrote for her, she wrote one for me to read at her funeral. I feel it's only fair I post this as well******************************

Mary:

Kendal was my best friend.

Sometimes I would make plans with her and then say, “Ellis is sick,” but I wish I wouldn’t have had a “sick child” so many times.

 I’m so sorry for telling on her for so many things in high school, especially the time I told on her for going out to lunch when she wasn’t a senior. It was all in the name of Jesus, because all I really did is drive around with a Jesus fish on my car and tell on my friends for stuff… but Kendal sure stayed my friend through everything!

 She didn’t really even complain much when I (chronically) had 3 week old food sitting on the floor of my car that she had to rearrange so she wouldn’t ruin her shoes.

Sometimes I would do fun things with Kendal, like pretend we were drunk around strangers and prank call numbers “Russian Roulette” style.

 I really owe my personality to her exclusively. Without Kendal, I would have been a lame, wasp-fearing, Looney Tunes-clad teenager with a minimal amount of friends.

 Since I think I’m really funny, I’m going to talk about myself now. I want you to know how funny I am, and no matter what that bitch Kendal said, I’m funnier than her forever and always – so I’m kind of glad she’s gone. But not really, haha.

I’m also REALLY good at being fertile. And I make extremely attractive children. I can’t wait until the day that my children tell everyone what a fun mom/human being I am.

No one really has the personality of me, because in case I haven’t told you, I developed it out of necessity.

 Whew, I hate to stop talking about how funny I am, but I’ve noticed that some of you have stopped laughing. Hahaha.

Anyway, I always envied Kendal’s sense of style. So quirky and eclectic. So as a tribute, I’m going to wear purple shoes and fugly necklaces for fun from now on.

Have I told you I can do the entire Thriller dance, by the way?! Don’t worry, I’ll show you a few times at the funeral reception. I’ll be the excessively tan blonde that looks like a carrot dipped in ranch dressing. And if you tell me this, I’ll thank you endlessly.




I’M PRETTY.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

I'm Westernicated. But in a super fun way.

I received my first hate mail.

And it. was. HATEFUL.

I can't copy paste the message because it is too vulgar and I am a classy bitch. But here is the gist.

You are the very reason why I do not even consider dating American women. Your blog paints a picture of a classless, trashy, racist, subhuman feminist monster. You are going to cheat on your husband, never learn how to cook or clean, never want children, gain weight, and take half of any man's money. All American men should quit wanting women like you and get a real woman, like an Asian woman. You don't hold blankety blank blank blank to an Asian. Your second toe is longer than your first and your breath smells like tacos. (also insert the word "western" in a lot of places. He liked this word as though it was synonymous with disease-ridden and gingivitis)




When I found this guy on Facebook and wrote him a message, he wrote me back and told me I was very pretty. Now I'm confused, yet flattered. I don't mind being subhuman, as long as people think I am attractive. That's the most important thing, right?




Here are some reasons I am glad that I am me. (and by me, I mean Western Man-Destroyer Devil American Blonde)



1. When I was 11, I auditioned for the role of Annie and got it. It has been my dream role for as long as I could remember. If you are a fan of Annie, you will notice I say all the lines identical to the little girl who originally played the role in the movie. It's a few minutes long, but I get my ass kicked at the end. Could I have done something so amazing if I wasn't such a westernized and American bad-ass? I think not.

video
 
 

2. The Beatles. The best American band in history.

3. When I was 8, we went on a trip to the Guadalupe River. Here is a picture we had our river guide take.



Dad Brother Mom Sister and Me. Thanks for not giving me a body, Ma.


I loved the rafting trip in the spots where the river didn't look like a river. Any kind of rushing water and I would scream like someone was killing the Smurfs. I'm sure everyone else in my family's excitement over the increased speed was tainted by my little girl voice screaming cuss words at the "rapids". Once I accepted we weren't going to be maimed by moving water, I turned my fear to something else. We were being followed by little baby ducklings. They had blood on their minds. And maybe bread crumbs. Every time they would scream something intimidating at us like "quack quack", I would shout at everyone to save themselves and start trying to hit the young poultry with my oar. When my parents told me I was being ridiculous and ducklings more than likely wouldn't ravage my throat, I pouted at their insensitivity for the remainder of the rafting trip.

Could there be a Guadalupe River in another country? I think NOT.

4. Do you think anyone in Ft. Walton Beach, Japan would give their kid a haircut this awesome? Or a swimsuit probably bought at Walgreens that says Pina Koala? Again, no way.





5. Accidentally taking a video when I mean to take a picture. I have at least 12 of these in my phone and they make me look like the biggest idiot. Which make them fun. And Western.

video

                                                        (me and my niece, Heather)




In case you can't tell, I really just wanted to write a whole bunch of random stuff and this was my way of organizing it. I opened it with the explanation of my first hate mail, in hoping that you will all flood the gates of my blog with reassurance, sympathy, and money.

*He didn't really say anything mean about my breath or toes. Everything else was said.
*I know the Beatles are actually from Scotland.
*I know the Guadalupe River probably goes through Mexico, because of the name. (this doesn't make a racist!)